


Dr. Bruno Walton, At Your Service

by Marks



Category: Macdonald Hall - Gordon Korman
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 06:55:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/607065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marks/pseuds/Marks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Boots feels like he's been hit by a truck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dr. Bruno Walton, At Your Service

**Author's Note:**

  * For [remrose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/remrose/gifts).



> A Yuletide treat for melkyre. I hope you like it!

When Boots woke up, he felt like someone hit him with a truck. That seemed unlikely since he was in his bed, so unless Bruno's latest scheme involved building a highway right through their room, Boots was pretty sure he was sick.

"You look terrible," Bruno told him cheerfully. Boots groaned and turned over in bed, pulling his blankets back over his head. He fell asleep again, but he was pretty sure the last words he heard before Bruno left were, "Don't worry, pal, I'll take care of you." Boots knew he was sick because he drifted off peacefully instead of being filled with dread.

Boots woke up two, three hours later, he wasn't sure, but he was definitely still sick. His head burned with fever and his throat was scratchy as sandpaper. The hit-by-a-truck thing hadn't gone away, either. He didn't even think he was strong enough to make it to the bathroom, but it was either drag himself out of bed or wet it, and Boots wasn't _that_ sick.

When Boots got back to the room, Bruno was there again, whistling merrily. Boots narrowed his eyes and collapsed back onto the bed instead of socking his too-cheery roommate in the jaw.

"How are you feeling?" Bruno asked. "No, never mind, I can see just fine for myself. C'mon, c'mon, let's sit up." He rolled Boots over and fluffed up his pillows, helping him into a sitting position. That was when Boots finally noticed how Bruno was dressed -- or maybe he was just delirious.

Bruno grinned proudly and brushed off his white lab coat. "Dr. Bruno Walton, at your service."

"Where did you get that get-up?" Boots asked, his voice now more of a raspy whisper. Bruno winced sympathetically.

"Stole it from the nurse's office, of course," Bruno said, holding up a stethoscope. "This, too. Pretty sweet, right?"

"No," Boots said. "Just go give them back and leave me alone. I feel terrible."

"Don't worry, friend, I'll leave you alone in a minute. Let's just see what we have here." Bruno produced a thermometer from one of the lab coat's pockets and stuck it in Boots' mouth. It beeped a minute later. "Wow, buddy, you definitely have a fever."

"I know," Boots said miserably. "Can I sleep now?"

"One second," Bruno said. He got up and pulled a tray off of his dresser; on it was a steaming bowl of soup, a peeled orange, and a cup of tea. "Liberated from the dining hall. And I collected your homework from your morning classes, which reminded me how glad I am not to be in honors classes." He pointed to Boots' overflowing bookbag, which was sitting back-to-back against Bruno's empty one. "Your stuff is _heavy_."

Boots had to admit the soup was pretty good -- chicken soup was something that even their dining hall couldn't mess up -- and the tea had milk and no sugar, exactly the way Boots always took it. And tea wasn't something Boots drank regularly, so he was kind of shocked Bruno had ever noticed.

"Thanks," Boots said. "You didn't have to do all this."

Bruno smiled and sat down on Boots' bed, throwing his arm around Boots' shoulders. "Of course I did, Boots," Bruno said. "You're my best friend. Besides, I need you to get better _fast_ because you won't _believe_ this great idea I just got..."


End file.
